145. [INTERLUDE] Family Reunion

When Renate Sandvik was a child, she'd never been allowed in the dining hall. She used to hide and watch her 'family' eat, through a peephole that connected the guesthouse to the much larger room. Because that was what she was: an unwanted guest, allowed to exist only by the grace of her King Father.

Now, she saw that the hole had long since been covered up. And in a rather strange turn of events, she found herself sitting on the other side of the wall—a grown woman, and by all accounts the worst criminal in all the Realm.

Presently, she sat at one end of the long, rectangular dining table with only her father for company. But Tyr hadn't been the one to invite her. In fact, the man looked barely capable of coherent thought—slumped over at his end of the table, hazy eyes half-shut, drool frothing at the corner of his shark mouth.

It occurred to Renate that this was the first real meal she'd shared with her father. Ironic, then, that neither of them seemed particularly interested in their food.

Renate was [Hungry], to be sure, with her [Satiety] hovering in the low 30s. But ever since her capture, she'd almost entirely lost her appetite. The only reason she ate at all was for Inge's sake; she was, after all, the only soul who could brew the [Pearl of Rebalancing]. And as for Tyr…

In ten short days, the bull-shark Yaksha King's already failing health had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. It was almost as if his Rakshasa Queen had stolen his vigor for herself—and in a sense, that wasn't far off the truth. Despite everything that had happened between them, Renate still felt a flicker of sorrow for the stranger across the table. But only a flicker… mostly because she herself was in no state to feel much of anything.

She tore her eyes away from her father's diminished figure, to instead look down at her food—a bowl of kelp soup. It'd been hastily whipped up by HEARTHSTONE before its wielder had left the room in a hurry. Renate inspected the pieces of Nether-kelp floating in cloudy broth, trying to summon the hatred she normally reserved for Loha… and failed to do even that.

"What's wrong? I thought this was your favorite."

Renate froze, then slowly readjusted her gaze, back to the other end of the table. She thought she might've imagined it, but there Tyr was, sitting somewhat straighter in his chair and fixing her with a pair of hazy-black eyes. The drooling corner of his mouth now curled up into an unmistakable smile.

"Or so they tell me," the King continued, words so thick with phlegm as to be almost unintelligible. "I may not spend much time with you, Renna, but I do try to keep up in my own ways. Inge's good for that, you know. None of your secrets are safe, as long as you trust them with that blabbermouth. Heh… heh heh."

A feeble, hoarse echo—a faint shadow of the laughter that once boomed across these halls. But beyond that, Renate was shocked by her father's use of her pet name. And what was this about him prying Inge for information about her?

"You… spoke to Inge?" Renate couldn't help herself. "How is she?"

Perhaps a moot question, if a Serac Edin were to be taken at her word. But Tyr nevertheless gave it due consideration, narrowing his eyes into hazy slits.

"Oh, she's as slippery as always, dashing all over the palace and gods know where else besides. I'm just glad a pretty young thing like her would give me the time of day. Do you know what she told me at the Realmhunt? That this was to be her last one—hanging up her cleats, as they say."

Instantly deflated, Renate sank lower into her seat. The King isn't 'here'. She indeed had been talking to a shadow—dredged up from the ripples that had seeped into the walls decades ago. She went back to staring at her food and contemplating how little she wanted to eat it.

Yet, one thing was true. Kelp soup indeed was her favorite—a humble choice fit for a born Roots-dweller. It meant Tyr Djofulsen had in fact kept tabs on his bastard daughter—had even retained some of the information after all these years, and after ten days that had robbed him of his health and sanity.

The double door to the dining hall swung open, and in strode Loha, now dressed in full regalia and looking considerably calmer than earlier. She threw a cursory glance at Renate and her untouched bowl of soup, before making a beeline for her husband. In her hand was a glass decanter, filled with a clear liquid and stoppered by cork.

Renate was almost thankful for the queen's arrival, if for nothing else than to distract father and daughter from their shared solitude. The scholar in her also felt a flicker of curiosity about the contents of the decanter. But only a flicker.

"Are you well, my love? Just a moment. I've got something for the pain."

Loha set down the decanter and gave Tyr a peck on his basalt head. The King, already back to trembling in his seat and frothing at the mouth, showed no sign that he'd heard his wife. Any light that might've shone through during his conversation with 'Renna' had faded completely.

The contents of Loha's decanter appeared to swirl and bubble on its own accord. When the Queen tipped it into a cup, the liquid came out as a dense mist, fizzing and hissing like molten metal quenched in water.

Strange. Renate's curiosity stirred again, growing from a 'flicker' into a palpable twinge. She turned her focus now to the cup in Loha's hand, and was genuinely surprised to find a Pathsighted label: [The Effervescent Lotus].

Effervescent? That certainly fit with the fizzing and hissing, but it didn't explain much. Did it have anything to do with the giant lotuses that served as Waystations? And why was the rest of its 'description' missing?

Perhaps it was her curiosity that held her budding dread at bay. Renate watched on from her end of the table as Loha wrapped a tender arm around Tyr. The Queen then began to feed him the drink, drip by painstaking drip. And the King lapped it up obediently—almost eagerly.

"Curious, are you?"

It took a second for Renate to realize that Loha was now talking to her. The Queen kept her eyes on her task, even as she obliged her 'guest' with something of a running commentary.

"Such a delicate thing—a soul's sense of 'self'. It can be shattered by a single moment—a failure under duress, or perhaps even a senseless misfortune. It can also be worn down and ground to a pulp over a lifetime of hardships and regrets. Wouldn't you agree then, dear, that it'd be a kindness to let weary souls lie where they're most at peace, surrounded by the love and warmth of their family?"

Now the balance had well and truly tipped from curiosity to dread. Renate felt it strongly enough that her wide-set brow knotted into a frown. She tensed, subconsciously straightening in her chair.

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"Your father is a man who's seen more than his fair share of hardships and regrets," Loha continued, voice growing softer as it shed its usual warmth. "The Great Pacifier, they called him—an epithet befitting only those born in war. He who'd Tamped down the rough edges of an entire Realm, so the lives of his people could be free from the strife and struggle that had defined his. Well, it's time he himself was allowed a measure of peace. That he may set down his burdens and let another carry them in his stead."

Renate stood—slowly and with little conviction. Instinctively, she reached over her shoulder—to where the handle of DREDGER usually sat—only to be reminded she'd relinquished it upon her capture. Nevertheless, she balled up both of her fists as she stepped forward, inching closer to the other end of the table.

But she'd acted too late and hesitated for too long. For Loha had emptied her cup into Tyr's mindless mouth. And the effects—hitherto obfuscated, even from Pathsight—were immediate if subtle.

Tyr's shark eyes lost their haziness, instead taking on a sinister red tinge. The denticles that covered his body—once as sleek as polished basalt—now fissured and erupted in open sores. And as impossible as it was, Renate had to accept the signs for what they were: imminent Frenzy.

But how can this be? My father is Immortal. Even if all of Pretjord were to starve and waste away, he alone could never…

Renate's worldview was breaking down in real time. In a feeble attempt to cling to reality, she scanned the Frenzying figure before her with Pathsight:

[Designation: TYR DJOFULSEN—the Great Pacifier]

[Aberrant Race: Yaksha]

[Aberrant Class: Realm Immortal]

[ZEALOUS Instrument: TAMPER]

Everything read as it should, which only deepened Renate's sense of dissonance. But before she could take her next step, another soul made the decision for her.

"Quickly, now. You know what to do."

Loha's voice was mild, regal, and lacking entirely in its usual warmth. The Queen kept her cold Rakshasa eyes on her husband, even as she extended a hand towards Renate and beckoned, palm up. Give it here.

Renate understood. And she indeed knew what she must do. She reached into one of her OYSTER compartments and pulled out a vial of milky-white liquid—[Pearl of Serenity]—then tossed it to Loha.

The Queen acted swiftly and expertly. She cradled Tyr's bull-shark head and dumped the entirety of [Serenity] in one go. She then held his jaws shut as she whispered lovingly into his earholes.

"Shh, shh. It's alright, love. You'll feel yourself again in no time."

Loha hugged her husband tight, and the latter soon went stock-still in her arms. He blinked several times, red eyes reflecting Renate's horrified stare.

"It's alright, love," Loha said again, this time directed at Renate. "This won't kill him. At least not right away. I still need him. The Realm still needs him, at least for a short while—until we have our next Immortal."

It took a moment longer for Renate to realize what she was seeing—or rather, not seeing. For Tyr Djofulsen's status sheet was now gone, along with his HP bar and any other overlay elements that had marked his integration into Pathsight. As far as Renate or any other Wayfarer could tell, her King Father was now an Anchored soul—Immortal no longer.

And then… peace. Just as Loha had promised.

The sores upon Tyr's skin healed instantly, leaving dry flakes and raw denticles in their place. The red tinge dissipated from his eyes, as did the haziness from earlier. For at least one Ksana, the bull-shark's eyes shimmered its regal black, before the lids drooped down and the rest of his body relaxed into the Queen's arms.

"There," Loha whispered, then gently let go. Tyr's whole head slumped onto the dining table, then the man promptly began to snore. Loha stood back and watched him for a while, before turning her faint smile onto Renate.

"Now," she said, "I'm sure you have some questions, but rest assured, our arrangement changes very little. You'll still help me with the Greenhouse, until such time that I could consider scaling back its operations. And in the meanwhile, I'll make sure that your dear old friend never misses her doses of [Rebalancing]. Do not worry about the outrealmers; leave them for me to—"

A knock on the double door. First tentative, then persistently louder as it went unheeded. Loha tsked in annoyance, grabbed her decanter of [Effervescent Lotus] off the table, then flashed a stern glare at Renate.

"Don't move. We're not done talking yet."

The Queen strode over to the double door and opened it just a crack. She spoke in an irritated whisper, just loud enough for Renate to make out the words.

"What is it? I thought I told you we were not to be disturbed."

The messenger on the other side was quieter and far more timid. Renate could barely hear anything, save for a stray phrase or two, the most notable of which were 'Prince' and 'fire'.

Whatever had been relayed to the Queen, it was compelling and urgent enough for her to abandon her immediate task. Without another word, Loha squeezed herself through the double door and shut it behind her, thereby leaving father and daughter to their shared solitude.

All was quiet again inside the dining hall. Still numb with confusion, Renate found herself sidling up to her father's blissfully snoring figure. Only then did she notice that his bowl of kelp soup had also gone untouched.

Renate stood in silence, with only her sleeping and very much mortal father to keep her company. Her heart weighed heavy with sorrow and her mind ran amok with questions and indecision.

But why? Hadn't she decided already—made peace with the fact that she was to play the Finless to the end of her days? Did she really have any other choice?

"Why won't you fight?"

Serac Edin's words still rang fresh in her mind, so much so that she echoed them in her own raspy voice. But words were words—flighty ripples soon to be lost to the senseless multitude.

How can I fight? No weapon, no ally, and not even the will and [Hunger] to live. My Path was doomed from the beginning, and it was folly to ever believe otherwise. No, it's long past time for me to make peace with what I am and what I'm not—set down my burdens and…

"Find your fire. Remember it."

Renate balled up her fists. She couldn't see the point of it, and yet, here she was. Wrestling with indecision. Searching for courage. The courage with which to take her next step—no matter to what godsforsaken place it might lead.

But before she could take that step, another soul made the decision for her—another soul that had heard the same words, echoed from beyond the veil of reality.

Tyr's rumbling snore suddenly cut itself off with an explosive cough. Renate tensed, wondering if her now elderly father had choked on his own spittle. But before she could react, the man sprang to his feet—filling an entire width of the table with his expansive bull-shark frame.

For the second time in as many weeks, Renate felt as though she'd traveled back in time.

She was that lonely frog girl again, hiding inside her sandy bunker. Back then, she'd stared out from a pair of wide-set peepholes as her father met her gaze with a savage grin—baring all of his serrated teeth.

It was the same smile that stared back at her now. Fire and blood. Irrepressible [Hunger]—and the challenge contained therein.

[Designation: TYR DJOFULSEN—the Warmonger]

[Aberrant Race: Gestalt of the Ripples]

[Aberrant Class: Dungeon Boss]

[ZEALOUS Instrument: TAMPER]

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